Coffee
by contagiouschemi
Summary: He took a sip of his hot, black coffee. He didn’t drink it for the taste; he hated how it tasted really. He drank it because it felt like her. Echoes of Smitchie. One-Shot.


**Coffee**

He took a sip of his hot, black coffee. He didn't drink it for the taste; he hated how it tasted really. He drank it because it felt like her. The feeling of the coffee coursing its way down his throat felt so familiar yet so different. It was like the feeling he had had when he kissed her for the first time, during that long, hot summer. He had felt that feeling every time that he kissed her since then. The coffee reminded him so much of her. Yet, it was nothing like kissing her. He didn't feel the pressure on his lips, he didn't feel her hot breath in his mouth, and he didn't feel that _tingle_ that he felt when he kissed her soft lips. Coffee was like kissing her, but it was so different. He didn't get her sparkling personality. He drank it at least five times a day; that was how many times a day he used to kiss her. That was until she left. Unlike the coffee, he liked her taste. He was addicted to it; no matter how much he hated it. He was addicted to it, like he was addicted to her. With her, though, he had to quit cold turkey. With the coffee, nothing was making him quit. Sure, from time to time he burnt his tongue, but it was worth it wasn't it, just to have something that reminded him of someone he couldn't have? Not that he didn't think of her every second of every minute of every hour of every day. He needed her, but if he couldn't have her, he just had to settle for that black liquid he drank so much of.

"Dude, why do you drink so much coffee?" his band mate asked him the day before Christmas. No one knew why he drank so much coffee, especially when it was known to play havoc on one's voice, and he had such a cherished voice.

"You wouldn't understand if I told you." He muttered back.

"I could try." Well, he was supposed to say that, he was his best friend after all. How could he explain to him just how alone, how bitter, how damaged, how desperate he was feeling, to the one person who had it all? Sure, He didn't have _her_, but he did have someone. He wasn't addicted to some stupid crushed up, liquidised bean because it reminded him slightly of the one girl he'd been caught up over for so many years. Why couldn't he be addicted to something useful, like a drug that made him happy, or cigarettes, they were said to relax someone. If he was to be addicted to something that someone drinks, why couldn't it be alcohol? That would've made headlines, unlike his stupid coffee addiction. He didn't even like coffee, and it did nothing for him, it just made him think of her and kissing her. It just made him write more music, what was the use in that? He was supposed to be writing music. He wanted something that was against the system. He wanted something that would make his manager tell him to give up. He knew how good that made him feel, he had felt it before; when he was with her. He was told to leave her, to move on with his life, to find someone more 'camera friendly'. Funny that it wasn't him that ended it, it was her.

"Nate, you will never understand it, because you have never felt so wretched, so disgusting, so unloved. You have it all, and I, I have nothing except for a record contract with my band." He hated sounding like that, especially with his best friend, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't been that acidic since before _her_. She had changed him. He had his own chronology of his life now. The years before he had met her he labelled as Before Her. The time when he was with her – for you could hardly say years, due to the fact they were only together for a small ounce of time; a little over a year and a half – he labelled During Her. And for the time he was in now: After Her.

He could hardly see anything in his future now. He used to be able to see his whole life, before his eyes when she was still there. He could see himself married to her, with children. Now, all he could see was a dark abyss. He thought of how she had probably found someone else by now, he hated himself for thinking that she was so happy without him. If she was, mind, he would be happy for her, no matter what, because if you love someone, you want the best for them, and he sure did love her. He had never told her. He thought a year and a half was way too quick to tell anyone that. Hell, he thought two months was way too quick to tell anyone that, for he had loved her two months after their relationship had began, possibly even before that. He had never told her though. He had whispered I just as he heard his door close just after she had told him. How could she have heard that though?

"Oh, so it's about her then is it?" his band mate asked. What a stupid question to ask. Of course it was about her, everything in his life was about her. It had been for quite some time now.

"Yes." He whispered simply. He didn't want to tell anyone about how much he yearned for that beautiful girl, not even his best friend.

"Look, man, I've seen her occasionally and -" he cut him off when he felt something explode within him.

"_You've_ seen her?!" how could his best friend betray him like that. He was fine with him seeing her, but not telling him. Actually, scratch that, he wasn't okay with him seeing her. She was his, not someone else's. He looked quite shocked at his friend's outburst.

"Yeah, I have, she is Cait's best friend after all." He felt himself slowly cool down. He wasn't seeing her on his own; he wasn't trying to take her away from him. No, she had taken herself away from him. She had given no warning, she just walked out. She hadn't old him why, she just left him. He threw his empty cup of take-away coffee in the bin, he had finished.

"I'll be back in a few minutes." He said before leaving the recording studio. He needed more. He needed that feeling again.

He took his fourth cup of the day from the girl at the cashier, spoke his gratitude and left the shop. He took a large gulp and felt that amazing feeling again. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was probably Nate, phoning to tell him to get his ass back to the studio. The one person he did not expect to be calling him was the exact person it was. He looked at the caller ID and almost dropped his phone.

**Mitchie Torres**

**AN : yo duderamas, merry xmas. Thought of this, whilst, of course drinking coffee. Thinking of doing a follow-up. Review please**


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